


for the revolution

by DanceWithMeForScience



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, M/M, Running From The Cops, hiding from the cops, not quite post-apocalypse I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-09 10:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanceWithMeForScience/pseuds/DanceWithMeForScience
Summary: Hugh gets separated from his affinity group during a clash with private security forces trying to lock down a dying city. Fortunately, he finds a friend.





	for the revolution

The air is thick with smoke, but that's not unusual. Today it’s because of the abandoned buildings, broken-down cars, and trash that’s burning. The city is burning.

Hugh’s lungs might burst; he’s breathing hard through his N95 mask as he races through the alleyways.

He’s usually in the street to help the other demonstrators, but now a curfew has just been called. He got kettled and separated from his crew, and although he got away, and thinks he saw them get away too, now he’s alone.

A gunshot rings out and he can almost feel the ghostly breeze over his shoulder. _Not today. Not today._ He darts to the left, down another alley formed of the packed down ruins of a brick building. The smoke is thinner on the next street. Weeds are spreading out of every crack in the pavement, growing waist-high with cheerful little yellow flowers that belie the situation.

Hugh checks over his shoulder as he jogs across the street toward another row of still-standing buildings. Still nothing. Maybe he’s not being followed after all. Or maybe he lost them.

“Hugh!” shouts a familiar voice from somewhere inside the buildings ahead.

Although he wants to investigate, Hugh sprints to take shelter inside a doorway. “Who is it?” he calls, checking his belt for his knife and pepper spray, scanning the area, tightening the straps on his small medic's pack.

“It’s Paul. From the farm!”

Hugh sighs in relief, closing his eyes briefly. He’d been wondering if he’d see the snarky farmer again, the guy who’s been keeping the resistance in fresh vegetables for months as society is crumbling.

He checks up and down the street again. Nothing.

He runs back over to the storefront, hopping through the broken window. Hugh moves toward the shock of blond hair he can just make out behind the shop counter.

“You’re a long way from the farm,” he says as he crouches down in front of Paul, who’s wedged between a broken soda refrigerator and a dishwasher.

Paul looks straight ahead, over Hugh’s shoulder. “We lost the farm.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Where’re your friends? Tilly? And that guy?”

“Dunno.”

Paul doesn’t have the experience in the streets that Hugh does. And he is a very long way from the farm. Hugh dreads to think how he got here.

“Where are you going?” Hugh tries again. “I got separated from my crew. I guess I’m going back to our safe house.”

“I didn’t really think about it.” Paul’s voice quivers ever so slightly. “I just grabbed my bag and ran.”

Paul’s not in Hugh’s affinity group. He would never normally make this decision, but he’s been loyal, and dedicated, and they almost kissed a couple weeks ago and Hugh has regretted not following through ever since. “You can come with me.”

At this, Paul turns his wide eyes on Hugh, and Hugh feels the full force of Paul’s worry. “Are you sure?” Paul asks.

If Paul’s somehow not trustworthy, if he’s untrained, Hugh could risk the whole cell… but they need food, or they can’t fight. They need Paul. And Hugh will never forgive himself if he leaves Paul behind, and something happens. “Yes.” He reaches out to squeeze Paul’s shoulder. “You-”

The booming of a private-security-grade explosive, so close, startles them both to silence, curling up with their hands over their ears.

Hugh’s breath is hot against the tops of his thighs - that’s the first thing he notices when the shock of the sound wears off. Paul has fallen against his side, but is already scrambling to his feet. “Where to?” Paul demands.

Hugh pushes himself up. “Does this place have a back door?” He’s already scanning. “I think we-”

The next explosion is even closer, and now Hugh can hear the slaps of boot soles against the pavement, at least a couple dozen.

“No, there’s a closet though, behind some of the debris-”

“We need to get in there now. I don’t think we have time to get out of here.”

“Follow me.” And Hugh does, close on Paul’s heels as he darts down the back hall and around a corner. Broken furniture fills a storage room almost full, but Hugh can see the closet door halfway open as they clamber over chair legs and tabletops. A shout seems to come from right outside the storefront.

It may already be too late.

Paul falls against the wall then, next to the door, he must have tripped over something, but now he’s pulling himself upright with both hands on the doorknob. He slips behind the door, holding his hand out for Hugh as the footsteps are falling inside the store now, the clatter of boots against broken shelves and glass -

Hugh pulls the door closed behind them as he falls to the floor, almost on top of Paul, and they wait there, it’s too close to move, and Hugh’s breath is falling hot on Paul’s arm and shoulder.

“Someone’s been in here,” a deep voice says. “Disturbed dust on the floor here.”

_Fuck. They_ _’re going to be found. There’s no way to get out._

The sound of furniture moving in the next room might as well be right outside the closet door for how much it makes his heart race.

“You’re hyperventilating,” Paul whispers. “You need to breathe quieter.”

Hugh stuffs down the urge to yell at Paul.

“Breathe with me.” Paul is taking very slow, measured, quiet breaths that Hugh can feel against his chest, fallen as he has against Paul’s side. Hugh’s leg is jammed up against a broom handle, or something, and it’s starting to dig into him, but he has to breathe.

The footsteps are just outside the storage room now.

Hugh breathes in. How does Paul breathe so calmly when they’re in such danger? _It__’s not over until it’s over. Every moment matters. You’ve got this_. He breathes out.

“It’s just a bunch of junk back here,” says another trooper. “Probably just a scavenger from earlier.”

Hugh breathes in.

“There might be contraband back here though.”

He stops breathing. Paul nudges him ever so slightly. He breathes out, so slowly.

Another explosion, somewhat further away, breaks the silence, and there’s a crackle of radio noise with an incoherent voice.

“We’ve got a situation on Avenue B!” shouts a voice from further away. The voices recede, the boots stomp.

He’s forgotten to breathe with Paul, and he struggles to stay with it, trying not to cry with flooding relief.

When he can’t hear anybody anymore, he starts to sit up - his arm is falling asleep, crushed against Paul. “Wait,” Paul whispers. “Let’s give them a couple more minutes to move on.”

They wait. Hugh counts the seconds as he breathes in and out, following Paul.

At 116, Paul shifts, and Hugh pushes himself upright to allow Paul up. Now their shoulders are pressed together as they face the door.

“I think we did it.”

Hugh could cry.

No, he _is_ crying, mouth frozen open, his body shaking with quiet sobs.

Paul wraps an arm around his shoulders. “We can do this.”

Hugh shakes his head, still crying silently. _No. It__’s four miles to the safe house. I can’t. I can’t._

“We can stay here as long as we need.”

_It_ _’s not safe anywhere. It’s not safe. It’s not safe._

“Breathe with me,” Paul says again. His voice is soft and soothing and safe. “Let’s take it one moment at a time. Just breathe with me.”

With some of the danger past, eventually Hugh’s sobs diminish. The noises of distant explosions, the memory of those bootsteps, are rattling him still, but he can still breathe. He can still breathe.

“How are you doing?” Paul ventures some minutes later, his voice so gentle.

“Better.”

“Ready to move yet?”

Hugh shakes his head.

“Okay.” Paul tightens his hand on Hugh’s shoulder.

“How are you so calm?” Hugh asks. “This doesn’t really seem like your kind of situation.”

“A lot of meditation practice. Too much time with my hands in the dirt by myself. Also… I find you very calming.”

Hugh blinks. It’s too dark in here to see Paul’s expression, but his own must be stunned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been trying to find a way to spend time with you for weeks, little did I know all I had to do was escape the security forces with you.”

Hugh bites back nervous, boisterous laughter. “Really?”

“Unless you’re not interested. In which case, I mistook you for a different Hugh, and we never had this conversation.”

Hugh finds his own hands again, yes, they work, and he turns toward Paul, fumbling for Paul’s hands, the stifled feelings rising all the way to the brim and overflowing. He leans in and kisses Paul’s hair, then his head is turning and their lips brush together, and the dam has burst.

He’s so relieved to be alive, and Paul is kissing him in a storage closet when they were minutes from arrest and torture and imprisonment. And they’re not safe now, not safe at all, but Hugh is drinking in the taste of Paul’s lips like he’s moments from dying of thirst and Paul is a water fountain.

Paul makes a tiny moan into his lips, fingers tightening on Hugh’s.

Finally Hugh understands those movies where people make out in the aftermath of grave danger. He's sorely tempted to get naked and make an absolute mess of this closet, make it a shrine to living and breathing and being and surviving.

Paul’s lips leave his, and Hugh leans forward, chasing them into the dark.

“We should go.” Paul’s voice is amused, reluctant, breathy. His lips are close and Hugh finds them again, savoring the warm, soft, eager response. “Hugh,” he insists between short kisses. “Seriously. I’d like nothing more. But we have to go.”

“Okay, fine,” Hugh concedes, pulling away, tucking his hands under his arms, trying to ignore the buzzing in his head. "You're very tempting though."

"Hmmmm. Think about… think about some security bro propositioning you.”

“Ew.”

“A really hideous security bro. With bad breath. Maybe one of the cops who set fire to the farm.”

The weight of the situation begins to settle on him again. “Your farm...” 

“I’ll grow a new one. Maybe you can help?” He opens the closet door, pulling himself up into a crouch. Light falls across their faces, and they’re grinning at each other helplessly.

Hugh tries not to fixate on Paul’s soft lips, glowing hair, fond smile. But he can’t. For this moment, he’ll just admire Paul. “I guess I’d better get you to that safe house so I can kiss you some more. And, you know, for the revolution.”

“For the revolution.” Paul holds out his hand.


End file.
